


The Dreamer

by zxrysky



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Dreams, Dreamsharing, Dreamwalking, M/M, Slight horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 02:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8185906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zxrysky/pseuds/zxrysky
Summary: Lance isn't really afraid, or worried, or hesitant. Nah, he knows what his dreams are about, for those that he can remember at least, and they're all pretty good. He hasn't had a nightmare in ages. All the dreams he'll be recalling and re-experiencing will be nice comfortable dreams in a flower field or something. Maybe he'll find that one dream where he's trying to catch chickens in a farm and they all dog piled on him. Or that one dream where Hunk and he became the top in Iverson’s class, which made their commander’s face turn so sour Lance could've sworn he'd swallowed a lemon. Dreamwalking will be a piece of cake.... Or so he thinks.





	

**Author's Note:**

> commission for the lovely @samuurii on tumblr!

Honestly, it probably isn't something Lance should be worried about. Allura's had this bright idea of using the facilities in the castle to help the Paladins access their dreams to further understand themselves by digging deeper, analysing their dreams and feelings and all that jazz, making sense of whatever they dream about.

 

Allura's a bit like his mother in that sense, always putting way too much faith in dreams. Believing that there's some important underlying meaning in them, believing that they hold some form of truth - dream of money growing wings to fly and it's a sign you'll be losing lots of money soon, dream of the ocean and it means you're lonely, dream of fire and it means you're afraid of something.

 

Lance isn't really afraid, or worried, or hesitant. Nah, he knows what his dreams are about, for those that he can remember at least, and they're all pretty good. He hasn't had a nightmare in ages. All the dreams he'll be recalling and re-experiencing will be nice comfortable dreams in a flower field or something. Maybe he'll find that one dream where he's trying to catch chickens in a farm and they all dog piled on him. Or that one dream where Hunk and he became the top in Iverson’s class, which made their commander’s face turn so sour Lance could've sworn he'd swallowed a lemon.

 

His dreams are fairly pleasant. Nothing to fear, nothing to hide. If Allura ever asks them to share their dreams, Lance’s sure he'll be the most confident one, save maybe Hunk, who’s the nicest guy ever so he deserves the best dreams. Pidge may dream about her family, maybe about technology, maybe about finding some nicer clothes since she's been wearing the same set for a month. Keith, _well_ , who knows, really. That boy's mind isn't something Lance can claim to understand, not when Keith scowls at him on one day and sidles close to him on another day. Lance can't wrap his mind around that boy, and with such weird actions, maybe he has frightening dreams. Dreams of being alone, maybe. Back in that shack.

 

As for Shiro, everyone can hear him at night, quietly tossing in bed and making groans that echo through the walls, and Lance checked on him once, sliding the door open and he wasn't prepared for the sight of Shiro curled up on the bed in a fetal position, arms wrapped around his knees and the blanket tangled in his limbs, beads of sweat against his temple and heavy panicked breathing.

 

It's why Allura insists on helping Shiro through the dreamwalks, just in case Shiro kinda, perhaps, maybe loses control and gets lost in his dream.

 

The dream is still a part of their minds, after all. And getting lost in one’s mind is probably the simplest thing to do. Allura’s warned them of the possible outcome, told them about how she’s seen people lose themselves by staying in their dreams for too long, trapped within and unable to find a way out. But she’s very insistent that this is the quickest way to allow them to become more comfortable with themselves, and that’s obviously essential to the formation of Voltron and defence of the universe.

 

Coran’s somehow fit the technology into this weird headgear, something that goes around the head and covers the eyes, looking fairly similar to the gaming devices Lance has seen in the storeroom in his house. His dad’s generation of gaming devices, maybe. It lights up when it’s being used, the color of their lions, and Lance presses the button at the side to watch the headgear light up a neon blue.

 

“One hour,” Allura advises, standing next to Shiro. “That should be enough time for all of you to get acquainted with your dreams. Coran’s already set the timer within the device, so do be careful to leave before the timer is up. Coran and I will come find all of you, of course, to check on you during your dreamwalking, but I trust you can find a quiet place to dreamwalk. Being comfortable helps you recall your dream faster.”

 

“I’ll take the engineering room,” Pidge calls out, fiddling with her headgear. She leans into Coran, muttering a few questions, and Coran brightens up, reaching over to take the headgear. They disappear around the corner, talking a mile a tick, and Lance runs a hand through his hair, tightly gripping the headgear with his other hand.

 

“I’ll be in my room,” he says, tapping his finger against the button to watch the headgear light up again, watches it flick on and off. “See ya in an hour.”

 

Lance presses his hand against the small of Hunk’s back as he turns, a little reassurance in case his big buddy needs any, and Hunk smiles brightly at him, squeezing his shoulder.

 

“Ah, yeah,” Lance murmurs lowly to Hunk, eyes glinting with a mischief that would make Allura tense up and prepare to throw something at him, maybe food goo. Hunk blinks, before his lips tug even higher and he raises his eyebrow, inviting Lance to speak his mind.

 

“Y’know,” Lance says loudly as he backs away, smirking as he glances at Allura. His eyes land on Keith after a while though, since he's more invested in seeing Keith's reaction. “Can we find wet dreams too?”

 

Keith turns red, impossibly red, cheeks the color of his jacket and his fingers twitch around his headgear, like he's seriously considering tossing it at Lance’s head. Hunk’s grinning like an idiot, the way Lance probably looks right now, and he shoots Lance a discreet thumbs up behind his back where Shiro can't see.

 

“ _Lance,_ ” Shiro sighs, shaking his head, but his lips are turning up at the edges nonetheless, shoulders shaking slightly with restrained laughter. Lance knew it, Shiro has a brilliant sense of humour. “Just go to your room.”

 

Lance shoots Shiro a two fingered salute and hurries off, grinning at Keith for a moment to rile the boy up even further. Allura doesn't seem to know what a wet dream is, which is probably the only reason why Lance isn't in a comatose state right now.

 

But Lance isn't going to argue, he's going to sit on his bed like a good boy and dreamwalk.

 

He's been thinking of catching some chickens, anyways.

 

-+-

 

_There’s the smell of salt in the air. Sea salt, like that ice cream his brother loves. It smells like the ocean, and he sticks out his tongue. He can taste the brine in the air. It lingers on his tongue, curling at the roof of his mouth, and the air is cool._

 

_His eyes are closed and he’s lying on something grainy. Something textured, something rough, and his fingers close around a pile of grains that trickle through his weak grip. Sand, perhaps. Dry, coarse sand. He probably isn’t that close to the sea, not when the sand feels prickly against his skin._

 

_“C’mon,” someone says, and Lance’s eyes open, squinting at the sun hanging high above. It’s a bright day, he’s dressed in swim trunks and he’s completely, utterly dry. Suntanning, maybe. The only liquid on his body is his sweat, beading at his temple and dripping down his skin._

 

_A shadow looms over him, blocking out the dangerously blinding rays of the sun and a blue liquid drips into Lance’s open mouth._

 

_He splutters, sitting up and rubbing the back of his hand against his mouth. It’s salty, it’s a little sweet, it’s cold and Lance tilts his head up._

 

_There’s a boy, smaller than him, maybe five years old, his eyes wide and bright as he holds out a sea salt ice cream. It’s melting in the heat, the blue liquid dripping down his fingers, and the boy licks the other ice cream in his hand, patiently waiting for Lance to take the ice cream._

 

_Lance reaches out, takes the sticky handle and pops the ice cream in his mouth. It tastes sweeter than the ocean, a little less salty, the kind he prefers. His older brother loves the saltiest things, and his sea salt ice cream needs to be salty beyond belief._

 

_But his older brother would make sweeter sea salt ice creams for Lance before they went to the beach, switch the ratio up a bit, a little less salt and a little more sugar._

 

_It’s been a while since he’s eaten sea salt ice cream, and Lance pulls his knees to his chest, one arm lazily wrapped around his shins as he sucks, laving at the ice cream. He licks at the liquid dripping down the stick, sucks up the melted parts and his fingers are sticky._

 

_“Bite into it,” the boy advises, lips spreading into a grin as he pulls at his hat. A large straw hat with flowers woven in, a red sash wrapped around it. It looks like his mother’s favourite hat._

 

_Lance knows that if he bites into his ice cream, his teeth will freeze up, growing cold and numb, a little painful, a little pleasing. It’s the taste of ice wrapped up in salt, pressed against his tongue and teeth, tiny knives attacking his mouth. He levels a look at the boy, raising his eyebrow but gently bites, bites with his molars, right at the back of his mouth._

 

_His teeth sink right in and it’s cold, colder than he thought it would be, making him shudder and close his mouth around the rest of the ice cream to stop a whimper from escaping. It feels like a small brain-freeze, his mind clamming up, his nerves working double time as he breathes._

 

_The boy looks absolutely delighted and presses up against Lance, two tan sweaty bodies leaning against each other, and the boy’s familiar. His mannerisms are familiar, he looks familiar, and the way his lips tug up and his eyes glimmer are things that Lance recognises._

 

_He’s only seen them reflected in a mirror before, so it’s a little disorientating to see it in front of him, see himself at age five grinning up at him._

 

_“Honestly, it’s pretty impressive that you’re so open to this,” the boy says, pushing at Lance’s knees and climbing into his lap, pressing his back to Lance’s chest. “I mean, you don’t know if I’m safe. Stranger danger and all that. Momma’s gonna be mad when she finds out.”_

 

_“You’re- you’re safe, aren’t you?” Lance stammers a bit, eyebrows rising and eyes widening in shock. His five year old self can’t possibly be dangerous. He’s five. Right?_

 

_“Am I?” The boy throws back, tilting his head up to look at Lance, pushing his hard head against Lance’s chest, pushing and pushing until it hurts, like a weight against his chest, a little bruise forming. “Am I safe? Lance, am I safe here?”_

 

_It sounds like two different questions. First, the boy’s asking if he’s safe. He’s asking if he’ll be safe in this world, if he’ll survive, if he’ll live._

 

_Second, the boy’s asking Lance if he’s really, truly safe. If he’s not dangerous. If he doesn’t pose a threat to Lance’s life._

 

_Lance swallows tightly, chest and shoulders moving with the movement, and his hands close tightly around the boy’s arms. He’s finished his ice cream and the stick is left forgotten in the sand, and it’s high tide all of a sudden, higher waves crashing against the shore._

 

_“No?” He says it like a question, an undercurrent of fear threading through his voice._

 

_“No,” the boy says, baring his teeth, smiling the way Lance would smile when Keith prods at him, something dangerous, something worrying, the only frightening look Lance holds in his arsenal._

 

_His teeth are long and jagged, sharper than Keith’s knives and they glint in the sunlight. Red drips down his teeth, from his gums - bleeding gums? - and pooling in his mouth, crimson color trickling out of the side of his mouth and staining his chin a painfully bright red, like blood welling up against his finger after a pinprick, like the fresh spill of wine on a white tablecloth, red against brown and it’s sticky and wet and Lance can smell iron in the air-_

 

_There’s a beeping sound, quick-fire rapid, as loud as the pounding of his heart. The boy perks up, looking innocent all again even though Lance now knows, he now knows that boy isn’t what he looks like, and the boy wraps his arms around Lance’s neck, hanging off Lance like a younger brother would._

 

_“Don’t go,” the boy says pleadingly, pouting and pressing closer. “C’mon Lance, don’t leave me here. I’m lonely. Momma isn’t here. Benji isn’t here. Daddy isn’t here. No one’s here. It’s so lonely up here in space, Lance. Will you stay?”_

 

_He looks like one of those children on the news, tear streaks on their faces and trembling all over as they stand next to the police, bursting into tears at every little thing. He looks like one of those children who were left at the side of the road by their parents to be found by the police, breathing shakily and haphazardly._

 

_He looks like a forgotten lonely child who wants affection._

 

_The boy’s crying, tears slipping down his face, and the beeps grow louder, more harried._

 

_“I can’t,” Lance says in panic, eyes wide, fingers tightly curled into fists in the sand. “I- I have to go, I have to go back to Hunk and Pidge and- and Keith and everyone.”_

 

_“Why do you always leave?” The boy whines, and he’s shifting, smoke curling across his face, his hair growing longer at the back until he looks like Lance’s youngest brother, darling Jamie at the age of four, gap toothed and laughing as he climbs Lance like a monkey._

 

_“Lance,” Jamie cries out, fingers digging into the back of Lance’s neck. “Don’t leave me again. Don’t go to the garrison. Don’t go to space. Don’t leave.”_

 

 _Lance- he knows, he knows that this is just a dream, he’s never had this dream in his whole life but he knows it’s just a dream and he needs to wake up, wake up, wa_ ke up before he gets trapped and he rolls off the bed with a crash, limbs knocking into the bed stand and he lifts the headgear off, tossing it onto the bed so it doesn’t hit anything and he scurries far away, pressing against the wall.

 

His shoulders are shaking and he presses the trembling base of his hands to his eyelids, bright lights still spotting his vision. Lance can taste the salt of his tears at the sides of his mouth, the way he’s lightly sobbing into his hands, and Jamie’s face floats to the front of his mind again.

 

Lance will swear on his bayard that he’s never had this dream before, never had something shock him to his core so badly and he’s shivering. This headgear, this dreamwalking, this short one hour is way worse than what he thought it would be.

 

Allura did mention something about facing their fears, but he didn’t- didn’t expect the way the whole thing unravelled, the way he’s left weak-kneed and red-eyed.

 

He mutters a curse under his breath, throwing his hand over his eyes and he just leans against the wall for a while, counting his breaths, waiting until he stops shaking and breathes normally again.

 

Another hour of this tomorrow? Christ.

 

-+-

 

To his utter disbelief - and frankly, embarrassment - Lance’s dream has rattled him the most. Hunk’s breathing a little hard, stress cooking in the kitchen for an hour or so as Lance hangs out in the kitchen with him; Pidge goes around hugging all of them tightly for a while but seems fine afterwards; Shiro has a weak smile on his face and doesn’t get up from the chair for half an hour, fingers gripping the armrests hard enough to look like they’re about to crack; Keith wants to hole himself up but Lance follows him into his room, making sure that he isn’t left alone because human interaction is important.

 

But they all seem to recover after close to an hour, while Lance’s eyes are still red, his hands still shake and he stares emptily at the wall every now and then, imagines Jamie’s crying face and his breath hitches, shoulders tensing up.

 

Keith peers at him, a small frown on his face and he inches closer to Lance, wrapping his fingers around Lance’s wrist.

 

“You okay?” He murmurs, more concerned than Lance’s ever seen him, and Lance shakes his head weakly.

 

Keith looks like he isn’t quite sure what to do and his hand slowly comes up, hesitantly resting in Lance’s hair. “It’s okay,” he says quietly, awkwardly petting Lance’s head. “Wanna talk?”

 

The question’s stilted, like Keith isn’t quite sure what he’s saying and Lance barks out a laugh, dropping his head against Keith’s shoulder. Normally, he’d die before getting all touchy feely with Keith the way he is with Hunk, but right now Lance craves comfort in the form of touch, and he sticks closer to Keith.

 

“Mm,” Lance hums, but he stays quiet afterwards, and Keith rests against him.

 

Lance thinks he probably needs a bit more time to talk about it. He’s not- not ready, he supposes.

 

He thinks of Jamie again, of a five year old Lance looking up at him with an abandoned look on his face, and Lance squeezes his eyes shut.

 

-+-

 

“Are the dreams just your fears?” He asks Allura, Hunk a warm steady presence at his back, his hand pressed between Lance’s shoulder blades to provide support. “I mean, what I saw when I dreamwalked was- I mean, I’m certain I’ve never dreamt of that in my life.”

 

Allura frowns, brows furrowing as she taps her finger against her lips, thinking hard. “I’ve only dreamwalked once,” she replies slowly. “And it _was_ about my fear. But I didn’t remember having dreamt that before, so it may have been one of the dreams I’ve forgotten. Still, dreams are born from your consciousness. This technology is meant to help you understand yourself better.”

 

She takes a deep breath and reaches forward, squeezing his shoulder and shooting him a gentle smile. “If you’re not comfortable with it, or if you’re afraid you’ll get lost, you can ask for a watcher. Someone to look over you and help you wake up, if you need it. I’m Shiro’s watcher, for instance. It may help you feel more comfortable and at ease.”

 

“Nah,” Lance says instantly, heart pattering away in his chest like a hunted rabbit. He’s not going to alert Allura to this fear of his anytime soon, and he’s not going to dump this on Hunk, or Pidge, or Shiro. And definitely not Keith, not when Keith might explode into righteous fury the way he sort of did when Pidge wanted to leave to find her family. If Keith finds out that Lance regrets coming to space and joining Voltron, who knows how he’ll react?

 

It’s a risk he’s not willing to take, and he hopes his smile isn’t shaky as he grins at Allura. “Let me go through a few more rounds. I’ll see how it goes, yeah?”

 

She levels a look at him, looking like his mother who could always tell when he was lying, and Lance holds his breath.

 

“Okay,” she murmurs, and Lance turns, pulling Hunk out of the control room.

 

Allura sounded a little worried, like she isn’t too sure she’s making the right choice, and Lance needs to get out before she decides that letting Lance roam free is a bad choice.

 

“You okay buddy?” Hunk asks, biting his lip as he tightens his grip on Lance. “If you need to talk, I’m here. We’re buds, yeah?”

 

“Not now,” Lance replies with a smile that belies the butterflies in his stomach. “Soon, I promise. Just- let me deal with it a bit myself first, okay? Let me see if I can deal with it. I- It’s my problem, y’know? I don’t want to trouble you.”

 

“You’re not troubling me at all,” Hunk says instantly, and he looks a little upset. “Lance, you never trouble me. You’re my best friend.”

 

That sweeps aside a little of the butterflies in his stomach, like someone’s just sprayed chloroform in there and they’re getting sleepy. It fills him with a glowy feeling, lighting him up from the inside until Lance’s certain he’s a little luminescent right now.

 

“Love you too man,” he says gratefully, and pulls Hunk into a hug.

 

He’s not _that_ lonely up here by himself, Lance thinks. Just- he doesn’t- he isn’t okay with thinking about his family left on Earth, his family who possibly thinks he’s de- he’s _not okay_ , or something. They did leave rather spontaneously, and through a warphole. They’re billions of miles away from Earth. Maybe even trillions.

 

Lance takes a deep breath and pats Hunk on the back. “I’ll be fine. Upbeat Lance, yeah!”

 

He shoots Hunk a few finger guns as he backs away, grinning as Hunk rolls his eyes but throws finger guns back anyways, lips tilting upwards in an exasperated smile.

 

-+-

 

Lance desperately tries to convince himself it’s not his fault that he’s having such terrible dreamwalking experiences, that it’s not his fault all his dreams seem to be so emotionally taxing to walk through, that it’s not his fault he doesn’t seem to be learning anything.

 

Everyone has different learning curves, and if Lance’s is just stagnant at zero right now, he’ll improve with time.

 

But as time goes by, as Lance dreamwalks everyday, the dreams don’t really change.

 

They’re about being lonely, about being forgotten, about leaving people behind and being left behind. They’re about his family left on Earth, they’re about how Lance is stranded in space, they’re about how the billion of miles between them can throw Lance’s world off its axis.

 

It’s like living a nightmare every day, and it’s gotten to the point that Lance drags his pillow and blanket into Hunk’s room at night because he can’t sleep alone.

 

Even though his nights are dreamless right now, he’s afraid that he’ll stumble across a night where his dreams are as bad as his dreamwalking experiences.

 

-+-

 

_This time, he’s in the ocean. He’s in the ocean but he’s breathing, oxygen finding its way into his lungs and there’s respiration going on in his body, regardless of the way his body should be weakening and his breath should be hitching in his throat._

 

_There’s the weak filter of sunlight through the water, casting shades of shadows on the corals and the spotted stones near him, and he looks up, squinting slightly. The surface seems way too far, he’s way too deep in the ocean, and the only reason why it isn’t pitch black or creepy blue-black right now is because the sunlight finds its way in. If it were night, if he were still - five feet? Ten feet? Fifteen? - this far under the water, he wouldn’t be able to see his outstretched hand._

 

_As it is, he swims closer to the corals, poking at them. They look like the color spectrum brought to life, reds and yellows and greens dotting the rocks, and they sway slightly with the ocean current. Lance remembers being young and reckless, diving as far as he can go to take pictures of the corals and rushing back up to the surface as quick as he can, ending up light headed and breathless, dry heaving as he spits water out on the beach. He remembers Benji smacking him on the back, laughing even though Lance knows he’s worried beyond belief. Benji would yell at him though his laughter, screaming about what Momma would say, and Lance would roll over, lying on his back in the damp sand, feeling it itch as the grains stuck to him, and he wouldn’t care._

 

_The corals twist away from his touch, curling in on themselves like they have a mind of their own, pressing against the current and Lance suddenly feels cold._

 

_The sunlight winks out in a matter of seconds, dissolving into the clear blue ocean and the color of the sea rapidly darkens before Lance’s eyes, the temperature dropping, dropping, dropping until a chill settles in Lance’s bones, seeps through his skin and clamps around his heart._

 

_It makes him wrap his hands around his shoulders, shivering as his teeth chatter and he hunches over on himself, trying to become a small ball of heat. It’s a biting chill, like you’re standing in a room that has it’s air conditioner turned far too low and you’re left without a jacket, your fingers are numb and you aren’t sure if you can move them properly, your shoulders are shaking and you have bodily spasms every now and then, wrecking through your body and rearranging your internal organs. Goosebumps rise on his skin and he hugs his knees to his chest._

 

_It’s no threatening winter wind blowing at his face, full of knives digging into his skin, but it hurts anyways, and the water’s growing darker, shifting rapidly between darkening shades of blue until Lance can’t see the corals around him clearly anymore, until he looks down and all he sees is black and his heart is in his throat._

 

_He’s still breathing, oxygen still going in and carbon dioxide still coming out, all functions are still working, but it feels like his throat’s clammed up, stoppered off his lungs and all he can do is gasp for air, clutching at his throat and hammering at his chest._

 

_“Lance,” someone - something? - says, and there’s a slimy texture slithering against his leg, curling at his ankle and holding on tight. “Lance, do you miss us?”_

 

_He can’t say anything, mouth opening and closing haphazardly as he tries to suck in air like a desperate man, fingers scrabbling against the thing wrapped around his ankle, trying to get it off. It doesn’t cooperate and even tightens further, to the point where his skin is definitely purpling._

 

_“Lance,” the voice repeats, and there’s a chorus of echoes in the ocean, reverberations of his name surrounding him. “Lance, we miss you terribly. Can’t you come home to us? All we want is to see you. To love you. Lance, baby, Momma misses you.”_

 

_There’s a soft chuckle, like his mother’s lilting laugh and Lance stops breathing._

 

_“Momma wants to see you again,” the voice croons, and slowly drags Lance further down into the sea. “Benji told you not to poke the corals, told you not to dive so deep, but you did. You did, you did, and you were a naughty boy, weren’t you? But Momma loves you baby, loves you so much, won’t you come here and see Momma?”_

 

_It’s a dream, it’s a dream, and Lance struggles even harder, trying to dislodge its grip. He’s moving further into the darkness, into where the remaining color turns pitch black and he doesn’t- he doesn’t want that, doesn’t want to enter that zone, but he can hear his mother calling for him in that sing-song voice of hers and he’s so weak to his mother._

 

_“Lance, darling,” Momma says, and the grip turns into a callused hand loosely wrapped around his ankle. Callused from washing plates, from ironing, from working in the office, with that cool metal band around the fourth finger. “Come down here for just a minute and talk to Momma. Let Momma look at you. It’s been so long, baby.”_

 

_“No,” Lance forces out, the first word he manages to push out of himself, and the nails dig into his skin. The beeping should start any minute now, the hour should be up soon, Lance’ll wake up and his fondest memories of his mother won’t be tainted by this creature-_

 

_“Lance!” The sound is sharp, admonishing, the grip on his ankle tighter than he can imagine and it sounds so much like his mother that Lance could cry. “How dare you call me something like that?! I didn’t bring you up to be this way! Come down here right now and apologise!”_

 

_It’s familiar, too familiar, this scolding and the fast paced words, the heated way she speaks, the way she sounds like she’s scowling at him._

 

_“No!” He cries out, curling in on himself, pressing his palms against his ears, trying his very best to block out the sounds. “You’re not, not my mother, my mother isn’t a monster like you, you’re wrong, my Momma would support me, she loves me, she loves me, she isn’t you-”_

 

_“Baby.” The voice softens, sounds like she’s saying a bedtime story to him, sounds like she’s singing him to sleep. “Baby, of course I love you. Momma loves you so much. You just have to come down here.”_

 

_Lance shakes his head furiously. “I won’t,” he bites out, and he can hear the beginning of the beeps, the way they sound in time to his heartbeat that’s going a mile a tick._

 

 _His mother roars in fury, so much like that one time Lance flunked a paper and came home crying because he wasn’t sure how his mother would react and when h_ e wakes up, it’s a relief. It loosens the clamp around his heart, lets his throat open up and sweet oxygen rush in to get his blood pumping again, and his heart throbs in his chest like a drum.

 

There’s fingers against his temple, scrambling to help him get the headgear off and once Lance opens his eyes to the empty white ceiling, his heart trips a little in sheer relief.

 

He sits up slowly and Keith’s staring back at him, wide eyed and mouth open, hand outstretched, hovering in the air like he isn’t quite sure where to put it, what to do, what to say.

 

Lance- he isn’t sure why, maybe it’s because Keith doesn’t know him well enough to know anything, maybe it’s because Keith seems like he’ll understand loneliness, maybe it’s because Keith’s someone Lance thinks he can unload on without feeling too guilty (which is bad, Lance _knows_ that, but he’s tired and he wants to spill it all out) - Lance tilts over a little and slumps into Keith’s arms, hands coming up to grip at Keith’s shoulders and he lets out a weak puff of breath against Keith’s collarbone.

 

“I-” Lance swallows, blinking hard. “I need to talk about this.”

 

Keith braces one hand against the curve of Lance’s hipbone, the other resting in between Lance’s shoulder blades, and his breath is warm against Lance’s neck.

 

“I’ll be here,” he murmurs. “Talk.”

 

-+-

 

The words rest heavy on Lance’s tongue, lingering in his mouth and it’s bitter and sour, the taste of raw lemon, feeling like lemon juice is seeping into invisible cuts littered all over his body.

 

They tumble out of him quickly, rush out like a freight train on a collision course and Lance’s eyes are trained on the floor, hands clutching at Keith’s wrists, bundled up in his blanket. He talks and talks, confesses all his dreams, tries to expose all his demons and he shakes as he speaks, tripping over his words with how quick he’s rattling them out.

 

Keith pries Lance’s fingers off one wrist and curls his hand around the back of Lance’s neck, curving around the tense muscles and squeezing gently as Lance talks, physically reminding Lance that there’s someone there to offer comfort and Lance sucks in a deep breath, a shaky pause in his recount.

 

“Slowly,” Keith murmurs against his neck, his hand is warm and steady, carefully holding Lance like he’s something fragile, something brittle. Holding him like he’s something precious. “Deep breaths, do it slowly. You have lots of time. I’m not leaving anytime soon.”

 

“Y-yeah,” Lance replies, closing his eyes and leaning back against Keith, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

 

He sighs and starts all over again, this time more coherent, this time less afraid, this time with fewer stumbles and fewer trips, a calmer heartbeat and a clearer mind.

 

They’re just dreams, after all. He’s only walking through dreams. Walking through dreams and his fears.

 

It’s all in his head.

 

-+-

 

The hardest enemy to fight is one that is intangible.

 

Lance can’t punch his mind, can’t punch the way his heartbeat increases, can’t punch the breath back into his lungs when he starts breathing shallow and rapid.

 

He shoots down another Galra ship and shakes his head, pressing against his temples a little, and Keith glances at him through the hologram.

 

 _You okay_ , Keith mouths through his visor, and Lance shrugs. He’s okay. Not great, but he’s okay.

 

He wishes dealing with his fears is as easy as taking out Galras.

 

-+-

 

Lance isn’t sure if Keith is the best choice for this, but he’s a little unwilling to share with Hunk - even though he knows, he _knows_ that Hunk’s the best at offering comfort, that his buddy is his best buddy for a reason, that he should feel comfortable with sharing his fears but for some reason, he’s unwilling. He doesn’t want to affect Hunk’s perception of him, he doesn’t want Hunk to feel worried, he doesn’t want Hunk to be upset.

 

Keith, on the other hand, Lance likes to think he doesn’t really care about that boy, so it’s easier to do this with Keith, with someone whom Lance doesn’t mind leaving a bad impression on.

 

So he sits next to Keith, both of their headgears on, the wires all strung up and connected, and with a breath that wracks through his body, Lance closes his eyes.

 

The world turns from the black of the back of his eyelids to someth _ing blue-gray, the color of wet stones piled along the shore, the stones that lead up to the cottage his family would spend the holiday in. It’s a small seaside cottage, perched on stilts so it’s a little above the sand, hovering just a few inches off the grains. There are shells tangled in vines draped across the windowsill, trailing along the roof and curling around the chimney. It’s a faint dull brown, with algae prowling along the stairs and high tide laps at Lance’s feet._

 

_Something closes around his wrist, something warm and comforting, and he looks down to see a pale hand gripping his tan skin._

 

_“Nice place,” Keith says, turning around to get a better look at the whole place. There’s salt in the air, the sky is cyan blue, the clouds are startlingly white and it looks picture perfect._

 

_“We came here for holidays,” Lance replies, taking a step towards the house. He feels full to the brim with confidence, brash confidence that can only result in tears, but right now Keith follows closely behind him as Lance picks his way across the stone path to reach the front of the cottage._

 

_He hasn’t been here for a while, not since he joined the Garrison and his holidays didn’t line up with his siblings’. The cottage looks as good as ever, like his mother’s just spent hours cleaning it up to welcome him._

 

_The door swings open, windchime tied to the top ringing sweetly as a sudden gush of wind blows past the two of them and into the house, making a thick layer of dust float up. The dust particles glitter in the sunlight falling into the house, floating gently like gravity doesn’t act on them._

 

_“You’re late,” someone mutters irritatedly, and Lance turns around to see Jen scowling behind him, arms crossed. “Late, again. Didn’t Momma teach you better?”_

 

_She pushes past Keith and jabs her elbow into Lance’s side for half a heartbeat, long enough to make Lance choke with the force and a laugh is caught in his throat. Momma did teach him better. Was there another gathering? He wasn’t alerted._

 

_“Late to what?” Lance says, following her into the cottage, and Keith tightens his grip on Lance, staying close behind him. “Sis, late to what? The cottage looks empty. Where’s Momma?”_

 

_“Down in the ocean where you left her,” Jen says offhandedly, striding over to sit in the rocking chair. Jen loves the rocking chair. Lance once joked that it was the only thing she ever truly loves._

 

_She sits down and the door behind them slams shut, the lights in the cottage shaking from the force._

 

_Lance swallows. “I… left her?”_

 

_“She asked you to visit her and you didn’t,” Jen bites out, buffing her nails against her shirt. She flickers like a spoilt light, flipping between corporeal and incorporeal. “You left her in the ocean, like you left Jamie on the beach, like you left Benji at the ice cream stand, like you left Hannah at the surfboard shop. Don’t you remember?”_

 

_She smiles lightly, eyes darkening, and the lights start shaking all over again, wind howling in the cottage even though the windows are closed and the door’s shut. “Why did you leave us? We didn’t do anything wrong.”_

 

_Keith moves closer to Lance until they’re almost touching, chest to back, and his fingers are the only warm things left in the house._

 

_The dreamwalks always leave him cold and shaking, and the familiar chill starts to set in._

 

_“I didn’t leave any of you,” Lance insists, and he tries to stand firm in his spot even as his fingers start shaking. “I’m coming back to Earth. Just, not now. Soon. Someday.”_

 

_Something squeezes out through the cracks in the floor, the slivers of space in the walls and it wafts about Lance, making his knees weak and his mind go heady._

 

_“Come back to us,” Jen says, staring intently at him, lips curled up. Were her lips always that red, colored with dark maroon and her high cheekbones stained with rogue? Were her nails always that long, pressing into the arms of the rocking chair and looking like claws?_

 

_Her eyes are bright and mesmerising, the color of fall as they draw Lance in, capture his attention and hold him under a trance. Maybe this is what falling under a siren’s song is like, limbs growing numb and heartbeat slowing, eyelids getting heavier, head getting hazy. There’s a faint smile on his lips and he sways on the spot, leaning towards Jen._

 

_All he wants is to go closer. All he wants is to stay here and feel weightless forever._

 

_There’s someone shaking him, gripping his shoulders and forcefully rocking him back and forth, and he lazily focuses on the hands on his shoulders, tracing them up to stare at a boy._

 

_“Keith?” Lance mumbles, a dopey grin on his face. “Hey, wanna stay?”_

 

_“C’mon Lance,” Keith says hurriedly, leaning in to whisper-shout it in his face. “Don’t give in. You’ve said before, you can’t- this is your fear. You can’t stay. Face reality. You’re in space.”_

 

_“Space? Keith, no, no, we’re not in space.” Lance waves a hand around, gesturing at the cottage. “I brought you here. My holiday cottage. Meet all my family, my parents, my brothers and sisters. Jen’s sitting right there. Aren’t we on a holiday?”_

 

_“No! We’re dreamwalking, c’mon Lance, remember! I’m your watcher, and you said you’d stop running away from your dreams, you said you’d face them, you said you’d conquer them, remember?”_

 

_“What fear?” Jen speaks up, and Lance glances over. She looks beautiful as ever, resting in the rocking chair like a queen on a throne. His sister was always beautiful._

 

_He blinks, and it feels like he’s seeing two images layered on one another, one of Jen sitting in the rocking chair and the other is fuzzy, the image of a green skinned creature with bone claws growing from its knuckles and fangs slipping out of its mouth._

 

_He blinks again, and all he sees is Jen._

 

_“Nothing,” he smiles beatifically, and sways back, resting against Keith. “Let’s stay for a while,” he murmurs to Keith, closing his eyes and leaning his head against Keith’s shoulder. “Have some fun. My room’s empty, y’know?”_

 

_“Lance? Lance, this isn’t funny.” Keith sounds a little panicked, voice going higher and grip growing tighter, growing rougher. “Lance, you need to wake up from whatever trance that creature’s put you in. This is seriously dangerous.”_

 

_“Mm,” Lance hums blissfully. The red mist grows thicker and if he squints, he can make out the individual droplets hanging in the air, gathering together, coloring his skin crimson._

 

_Keith pushes him upright, and his eyes are wide with worry even as he frowns at Lance, brows furrowing and lips turning downwards. “You’re not going to like this,” he allows, chancing a glance past Lance to look at Jen, before his eyes quickly slide back to Lance. “You’re not going to like this, but I have to do this.”_

 

_He takes a deep breath like he’s steeling himself for something, and Lance leans forward a little, expecting a kiss._

 

_Keith sinks his fist into Lance’s solar plexus, pain exploding in his abdomen and ricocheting up his spine. Lance gasps out, vision clear but dotted with stars and he doubles over, gripping his abdomen, wincing at the pounding in his head._

 

_The red mist hovers around him, trying to seep back into his mind and Keith tugs his hair, forcing Lance to look up at Keith._

 

_The boy - the darling, bastard boy whom Lance swears to God he will kill very soon - slaps Lance once, so hard that Lance can feel the handprint throbbing on his cheek._

 

_Lance falls to his knees, one hand pressed against the floor to support himself while the other tries to massage the pain out of his abdomen, and he breathes in harshly through clenched teeth, squeezing his eyes shut._

 

_The pain must have shocked him out of whatever haze the mist forced him into. He’s giving Keith props for that, but he looks up and sees the horrifying creature in Jen’s rocking chair and his mind is blank._

 

_The monster looks like a screwed up version of his sister, wearing her eyes and her nose and the shape of her body but its skin is luminescent green, its teeth are more fangs than anything else, and there are claws buried in its knuckles._

 

_Keith pulls at his shoulders, propping him up and his hand finds its place in between Lance’s shoulder blades. “C’mon,” he says, pushing lightly at Lance. “You can do this.”_

 

_“I can,” Lance affirms, voice shaky as he looks at what used to be his sister. The cottage has changed as well, all dilapidated and broken down, floorboards sticking out of place, gaping holes in the ceiling, broken window glass near the walls and the walls are all cracked like spiderweb-fragmented ice._

 

_It’s dark and scary, the exact opposite of his memory of this cottage, and it angers him to see how mutilated and corrupted his memory has become._

 

_This definitely isn’t a dream he’s had. It’s the result of his fears, the way he’s unknowingly warped his memories into nightmares._

 

_“Get out,” he says firmly, filled with a confidence he didn’t know he had. The monster stays in the rocking chair and opens its mouth, showing off its long curved fangs that look the length of Keith’s knives._

 

_“Lance, you should stay with us,” the monster needles, leaning forward. “Stay with me, stay with Momma and Benji and Jamie and Hannah and everyone else. There’s still so many of us who want to meet you. We want to meet Keith too. Stay here.”_

 

_“Get. Out.” Lance’s voice grows stronger, grows louder, and he straightens, spine stiffening. This- this isn’t the monster’s territory. It belongs to Lance, not this monster born from his fear. The monster has no right to taint his memory of his sister, none at all. “You don’t belong here.”_

 

_“Of course I belong here,” the monster replies, and its shadow against the wall grows bigger, looming over Lance, a curtain of darkness draping across him. “I’m a part of you. You can’t ask me to leave. Lance, don’t you miss me?”_

 

_He grits his teeth. There’s a hand wrapping around his neck, steadying and calming, and the tension slithers out, his muscles slowly growing loose._

 

_“Slowly,” Keith says, just like the first time he confronted Lance. “Take your time. Face your fear. Acknowledge it.”_

 

_Keith talks like he knows everything, but once Lance is done he’s going to be Keith’s watcher and he bets that Keith’s going to be weak-kneed as well. The thought of Keith facing his fears by himself makes Lance want to retch._

 

_“Please,” Lance says after a pause, eyes trained on the monster’s auburn eyes. They look so much like Jen’s eyes, filled with brightness and life. “I want to stay. But I can’t. Someday, I’ll stay. Someday, I’ll come back to Earth and I’ll find all of you again. I’ll come back again and again. I’ll introduce you to everyone, even Allura and Coran._

 

_“But right now,” he repeats, blinking rapidly. “Right now, I can’t. I’m a Defender of the Universe. I can’t go back so soon. I’m lonely and I miss all of you, and you’re probably all lonely and miss me too, but I- it’s impossible for me to go back so quickly. The universe needs me. I have to be brave for them.”_

 

_“For them,” the monster echoes, and its tongue flickers out, tasting the words in the air. “Be brave for them.”_

 

_Lance swallows. “Yes.”_

 

_The air shimmers and glows hot white, like a supernova before his eyes, and when Lance carefully opens an eye after the light dies down, the cottage looks the way he remembers. Jen’s back in the rocking chair, picking at her nails, a scowl on her face._

 

_“Sis?” Lance asks faintly, and his knees feel shaky. He reaches blindly behind him to grip onto Keith and the boy provides, pressing close to offer physical support._

 

_“Lance,” Jen confirms, and sits up straight. “You’re a little stronger now,” she notes absentmindedly, peering at him. “More confident. More secure. More stable.”_

 

_She nods decisively. “I’ll leave you alone for now.”_

 

_“For now?”_

 

_“Of course,” she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You’ll break again. You’ll become weak and Allura will send you to dreamwalk again. And we’ll be waiting for you. Fears change. You’ll get a new set of fears, a new set of nightmares, and we’ll be here, waiting to make you stay.”_

 

_Jen stands up and strides over, placing her perfectly manicured hands on Lance’s shoulders and gripping him tightly._

 

_“You’ll give in and stay next time,” she says with certainty, with relish, and Lance’s in a state of shock. “But,” she continues, and her face softens a little, lips curling up at the edge, looking like a proud older sister._

 

_“You did a good job, Lance. Time for you to wake up.”_

 

-+-

 

Allura eyes him in mild disbelief. “Your dream told you to wake up?”

 

“Yeah,” Lance says, nodding. Keith nods beside him, a true buddy who backs him up.

 

“I… I’ve never heard of such a thing, I believe,” she replies, a little worried. “It said you’ve become stronger, more stable, more secure?”

 

Lance nods again, and Keith copies his movements.

 

“Perhaps… Perhaps you’ve truly conquered your fears, instead of beating and locking it away for as long as you can,” Allura wonders out loud. “My father told me something along those lines once. He said that the best way to deal with this isn’t to fight back your fear and bury it in a box. It’ll escape after a while and come back with a vengeance. Achieving a peace within you is the key to this exercise.”

 

Lance feels like he’s just being a yes-man today, because all he’s doing is nodding, and all Keith is doing is nodding along as well.

 

She levels a look at him, warm eyes roving over his body and her lips tug up. “Good job, Lance,” Allura says quietly. “You did really well.”

 

“Thanks,” Lance replies, slightly sheepish. The only reason any sort of confrontation happened was because of Keith, not him. “I’ll uh, go help Keith now? Be his watcher and all that, cool?”

 

His fingers find Keith’s, tangling up in each other, and Keith squeezes back slightly.

 

“Of course, Lance. And I hope you’ll be open to helping the others if they should need it?” Allura asks hurriedly, eyes wide with hope threatening to spill out. “Please?”

 

“Uh, yeah,” he says, shrugging and leaning into Keith. He’s tired after the whole ordeal, and Allura’s lucky that Keith was willing to half-drag half-carry him here for him to give his report.

 

He smiles tiredly at her - tired but victorious, oh so _victorious_ \- and turns, stumbling a little. Keith catches him, wraps his arms around Lance and with a suffering sigh, helps Lance out of the hall.

 

“C’mon,” he says, steering a half-asleep Lance to his room. “Sleep for a bit.”

 

“Mmff,” Lance mumbles against his neck in reply, and closes his eyes.

 

Maybe he’ll dream of catching chickens at a farm with Keith.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a review with your thoughts or drop by my [twitter](https://twitter.com/zxrysky) and [tumblr](http://zxrysky.tumblr.com/) .


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